The rain lashed against the grimy windows of the small, rented apartment in Crime Alley. It was a stark contrast to the manicured lawns of Privet Drive or even the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Harry Potter, at 25, felt a world away from both. Magic was…difficult here. Faint, almost stifled under the oppressive weight of Gotham's despair. He clutched the worn photograph of Ron and Hermione, a fragile anchor to a life that felt increasingly distant. He had come to Gotham seeking anonymity, a place where he could simply exist without being Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He quickly realized he'd picked the wrong place.
One evening, while navigating the labyrinthine, dimly lit streets, he stumbled upon a mugging in progress. Instinct took over. A flick of his wrist, a whispered incantation (difficult as it was), and the mugger was disarmed and levitating upside down. Before Harry could decide what to do next, a blur of black descended. Batman.
The Dark Knight landed silently, his cape billowing in the artificial wind generated by his descent. He neutralized the stunned mugger in seconds, then turned his masked gaze upon Harry.
"You used…powers," Batman stated, the voice modulator making his tone even more intimidating.
Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Defence…Instinct. I just wanted to help."
Batman studied him for a long moment, the cowl's lenses seemingly piercing through him. "Gotham is not a playground. Your…abilities are dangerous here."
"I know," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm just trying to live quietly."
"Quietly," Batman echoed, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "You're attracting attention. Bad attention." He disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he had arrived, leaving Harry standing alone in the rain, feeling more exposed than ever.
The encounter had a strange effect. While fear was present, there was also a flicker of…fascination. This was Batman, the city's protector, a legend whispered in hushed tones. And he had taken notice of Harry.
A week later, Alfred Pennyworth arrived at Harry's apartment. Impeccably dressed and radiating an aura of quiet authority, he seemed absurdly out of place in the dilapidated building.
"Mr. Potter," Alfred greeted, his voice a soothing balm after the harsh sounds of the city. "Mr. Wayne has requested your presence at Wayne Manor."
Harry raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Wayne Manor? Why?"
Alfred offered a small, knowing smile. "Mr. Wayne believes your…unique talents could be of benefit."
Wayne Manor was a gothic masterpiece, a stark contrast to the modern cityscape surrounding it. Inside, it was even more imposing, filled with priceless antiques and a palpable sense of history.
Bruce Wayne was waiting in the library, a towering figure even in a tailored suit. He looked at Harry with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. "I understand you have a skill set," Bruce began, his voice low and resonant. "That could be useful. I have…a proposition."
The proposition was simple, yet extraordinary. Bruce wanted Harry to tutor his son, Damian, in…well, everything. Damian was brilliant, but rebellious and headstrong. Bruce believed Harry could provide a unique perspective, instilling discipline and perhaps even…compassion.
Harry was hesitant. He had come to Gotham to escape attention, not to thrust himself into the heart of one of the city's most prominent families. But the offer was generous, and the thought of helping a troubled young boy resonated with him.
He accepted.
Damian Wayne was everything Harry expected and more. He was arrogant, fiercely intelligent, and possessed a fighting prowess that was frankly terrifying for someone his age. Their first few lessons were a disaster. Damian openly mocked Harry's attempts at teaching, questioning his qualifications and generally making his life miserable.
But Harry persevered. He drew upon his own experiences, his own struggles with authority, and slowly, painstakingly, began to chip away at Damian's armour. He introduced him to literature beyond combat manuals, to music that wasn't strategic battle anthems. He even managed to get Damian to crack a smile – a rare and precious event.
Meanwhile, Bruce’s interest in Harry seemed to grow beyond professional courtesy. He would linger in the library during their lessons, ostensibly to observe, but Harry felt his gaze upon him. He would engage Harry in conversations about his past, his experiences, drawing him out in a way that made Harry feel…vulnerable.
One evening, after Damian had retired for the night, Bruce invited Harry for a drink. "Thank you, Harry," Bruce said, his voice softer than Harry had ever heard it. "Damian has…changed since you arrived. He's more…open."
"He's a good kid," Harry replied. "Just needs someone to see past the…attitude."
Bruce leaned forward, his eyes locking with Harry's. "And you see that?"
Harry looked away, feeling a sudden heat rise to his cheeks. "I try to."
Bruce reached out, his hand gently touching Harry's. "You're a remarkable man, Harry. You've brought something to this house that it hasn't felt in a long time…life."
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected…this.
Their relationship blossomed, slowly and awkwardly, like a fragile flower pushing through concrete. Bruce, the stoic billionaire, found himself drawn to Harry's warmth, his quiet strength, his unwavering sense of justice. Harry, in turn, found himself seeing beyond the mask of Batman, beyond the trauma and the darkness, to the man beneath. He found himself falling in love.
Alfred, of course, saw it all. He watched with a knowing smile as Bruce's demeanor softened, as Damian slowly warmed to Harry, as Wayne Manor began to feel less like a mausoleum and more like a home. He quietly approved, knowing that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had brought a light into the dark heart of Gotham, a light that even Batman couldn't extinguish.
Harry Potter, the reluctant sorcerer, the accidental teacher, had found a home in the most unlikely of places, in the arms of a man who lived in the shadows. His life in Gotham was far from quiet, far from easy, but it was, undeniably, his. And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like he belonged, not as a legend, but as himself. The shadow of Voldemort loomed less heavy now, replaced by a different kind of darkness, a darkness he found himself willing to face, hand in hand with the man who was its master, and perhaps, its prisoner.